


down in the dirt

by anirondack



Series: 10 Kinks Challenge [10]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, M/M, Spanking, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anirondack/pseuds/anirondack
Summary: Yuuri disappears into the bedroom and Makkachin licks Victor’s cheek. Victor makes a face and rests his chin on Makkachin’s head. Yuuri does a few more laps, with towels and water bottles and things from the bathroom, and then the door closes. Victor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. Not long now.He listens intently, but no sound comes from the other side. Victor’s not surprised - Yuuri never makes much noise beforehand. Victor knows exactly what he’s doing in there: sitting crosslegged on the bed, looking at the ground, his glasses in his hand, taking slow breaths and memorizing the layout of the floor. Imagining and reimagining the path that Victor will be pushed through. He’ll have put on sweatpants already, or changed shirts to be more comfortable. The lamps will be on and the overhead light will be off, making the room pleasantly dim.It’s the same ritual Yuuri always does, and Victor lets him, because Victor would let Yuuri do anything, and especially when Yuuri does this for him.





	down in the dirt

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 10 Kinks Challenge. Kinks are "spanking", "dry humping", and the much requested "dick slapping". 
> 
> we did it, kids! this is the last part of the 10 kinks challenge! thank you all for sticking with this, all your comments and kudos and bookmarks mean a lot to me. this is the first challenge like this i've actually finished, and it's definitely in part due to y'all. hope you enjoyed it. <3

At times like these, Yuuri takes comfort in preparation.

Victor is banished to the couch with Makkachin, which isn’t exactly a tremendous sacrifice, and Victor has one eye on the television and one eye on Yuuri, who keeps wandering into the bedroom with a freshly washed comforter and then back out again. Yuuri has a degree of anxiety about some of the things Victor asks for, like he has a degree of anxiety about everything. Victor lets him ease into it, because he’ll push Yuuri on the ice but he won’t push him here. Anything that Yuuri needs to feel comfortable, Victor will gladly give him with open palms.

Yuuri walks by again with an old pillowcase. It’s pale blue and a little threadbare around the edge. Victor keeps old sheets in a bin in his closet, just in case he needs them, or wants to use them as rags when he cleans up after Makkachin. They’re not using the sheets tonight, though, just the pillows, so Yuuri hums tonelessly to himself and lets the pillowcases swing in his hand and disappears into the bedroom, returning a moment later to throw the pillowcases that had been on the pillows into the laundry.

“Do you need anything, my Yuuri?” Victor asks as Yuuri passes again. He’s done at least ten laps around the apartment by now, but Victor doesn’t mind.

“No, I’m alright,” Yuuri says. He brushes his hand over Victor’s hair, mussing it a little. Victor huffs, but he smiles as he adjusts it back into place. Yuuri disappears into the bedroom and Makkachin licks Victor’s cheek. Victor makes a face and rests his chin on Makkachin’s head. Yuuri does a few more laps, with towels and water bottles and things from the bathroom, and then the door closes. Victor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. Not long now.

He listens intently, but no sound comes from the other side. Victor’s not surprised - Yuuri never makes much noise beforehand. Victor knows exactly what he’s doing in there: sitting crosslegged on the bed, looking at the ground, his glasses in his hand, taking slow breaths and memorizing the layout of the floor. Imagining and reimagining the path that Victor will be pushed through. He’ll have put on sweatpants already, or changed shirts to be more comfortable. The lamps will be on and the overhead light will be off, making the room pleasantly dim.

It’s the same ritual Yuuri always does, and Victor lets him, because Victor would let Yuuri do anything, and especially when Yuuri does this for him.

“Victor,” Yuuri’s voice calls, soft through the door. “Come here.”

Victor’s heart rate kicks up instantly. He nudges Makkachin off of him and goes to the kitchen and drops a few treats into his bowl. Makkachin boofs, pleased, and goes to eat them, and Victor silently approaches the door. His hand hovers over the knob for a moment, and then he opens it and slips inside the bedroom and nudges the door shut behind him.

There’s a thick comforter spread out at the foot of the bed, and both pillows resting on top of it, side by side. Yuuri is sitting at the edge of the bed, as predicted, bare chested and in comfortable sleep pants. His glasses are folded up on the bedside table. His hands are folded in his lap. There’s nothing but this, the blanket and the pillows and Yuuri. No toys, no implements, no lube just within arm’s reach. Victor’s eyes flash around the room and then land on Yuuri’s. Yuuri looks at Victor appraisingly, and Victor stands as still as he can. Yuuri is assessing Victor, and he’s assessing himself. He’s assessing every plan he’s made, every way every decision could go, everything Victor has whispered to him in the confidence of their bedroom. Victor is almost afraid to move, as if Yuuri is an animal to be spooked, as if Yuuri isn’t the most dangerous thing in the room right now.

“What do you say?” Yuuri says softly.

“Stop,” Victor says. Their safeword is just _no_. If Victor says stop, Yuuri will always stop. It’s not hard to remember, but Yuuri checks every single time, like the English word will have been deleted from Victor’s mind since the last time he said it.

Yuuri nods. “Take all of that off.”

Victor immediately tugs his shirt up over his head. If it weren’t like this, him at the door and Yuuri on the bed, he would make a show of it. But he’s not meant to. He’s not meant to try to take control of this situation, and no matter how much he wants to show off, that’s not what Yuuri wants. He drops his shirt on the floor, then undoes the buckle of his belt and tugs it through the loops. He drops that on the shirt, and then pulls off his pants and kicks those away, and wiggles out of his underwear. He stands there, very naked, very exposed before Yuuri, who once upon a time would not have looked back.

Yuuri looks back now. He isn’t shy anymore. He takes in the hard parts and the soft parts of Victor’s body, then nods at the spot in front of him. “Come here.”

Victor walks over obediently. He stands in front of Yuuri, and Yuuri extends his foot and nudges Victor back a step. Victor bows his head obediently, folding his hands behind his back. Yuuri hadn’t told him to do that, and it’s not a rule. It just feels nice to do it.

Yuuri gives him another assessing look. He is stalling, and he isn’t. Yuuri knows when the right time to do something is. Victor doesn’t always know - he thinks the right time is _now,_ always _now,_ and he gets impatient when he’s left to make the decisions. This is Yuuri’s decision, and Victor will be ready the second that Yuuri is.

It feels like a long time, but it’s probably only ten or fifteen seconds when Yuuri says, “Down.” Victor reaches down and grabs one of the pillows and drops it in front of Yuuri, then sinks to his knees on top of it. Yuuri’s face is impassive, but there’s a little bit of amusement underneath. Victor’s twenty-eight year old knees are not what they used to be, and Victor is allowed to do whatever he wants to take care of them without asking. Victor has free reign over anything that might impact his skating without asking, but Yuuri rarely strays anywhere near that territory.

“Head down,” Yuuri orders. Victor bows his head, and then fingers run through Victor’s hair. Yuuri’s fingertips dig into Victor’s scalp, turning his head slightly to the right, then slightly to the left. Nails drag over Victor’s skin, which feels very good and makes Victor purr, and then Yuuri grabs a fistful of hair at the back of Victor’s head and yanks. Victor’s head jerks back and he’s forced to stare at the ceiling, Yuuri only barely visible in the bottom of his vision.

“Head up,” Victor says wryly.

Yuuri frowns. “Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Why, are you going to punish me?”

The answer to that is no. Yuuri doesn’t punish. He doesn’t touch Victor like this unless they’re both feeling good. If things don’t go mostly according to plan, he makes them stop and buries himself in Victor’s chest and makes Victor talk about it. It leaves Victor aching sometimes, but it’s far better than any alternative.

“You know I won’t,” Yuuri says.

“I know you won’t.”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Yuuri says again.

“I won’t.”

Yuuri gives him that appraising stare again. Then he slowly unfolds his legs and lets them hang off the end of the bed. Victor wants very badly to crawl between them and bury his face in Yuuri’s hip, but he doesn’t, because Yuuri has not yet asked him to.

“What do you want first?” Yuuri asks. “Me first or you first?”

Victor wants Yuuri to decide. This decision is too much choice right now. This is Yuuri’s show, Yuuri’s chessboard, and Victor is a king on it. Powerful, the victor, but a piece that Yuuri can pick up and move to his desire.

He looks up at Yuuri pleadingly. Yuuri looks at his face, his expression, the way his eyes darken, and he nods. “I understand. Turn sideways.”

Victor climbs off the pillow, turns it ninety degrees, and then climbs back on. He settles back on his heels, spreading his knees a few inches to sit more comfortably. Next to him, Yuuri slides off the bed and reaches for the second pillow, setting it down in front of Victor. Then he sits back down, perched on the edge of the bed frame, one leg crossed over the other. Victor keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him, but he sees Yuuri sitting still in the corner of his eye and it’s very hard not to look at him.

Yuuri sits for a while, just looking, and then he uncrosses his leg and reaches one out. His foot settles on Victor’s shoulder, and then Yuuri braces and presses down. Victor nearly loses his balance, but Yuuri keeps pressing, down and down until Victor’s chest is flush with the pillow he’s not kneeling on and his face is on the floor and his ass is up in the air. Victor’s eyes flicker to Yuuri’s face, and Yuuri moves his foot to dig into the back of Victor’s neck instead.

“Close your eyes.”

Victor doesn’t immediately comply - he’s still trying to catch his breath.

“I said close your eyes, Victor.” The pressure on the back of Victor’s neck gets heavier, so Victor snaps his eyes shut and it recedes. “Good. Thank you.”

There’s the slow slide of fabric next to Victor’s ear, the sound of Yuuri’s feet hitting the ground again, the nudge of Yuuri’s knee as he sits down on the floor next to Victor. Yuuri’s hand comes to settle on Victor’s ass, stroking gently over the skin. Victor bites his lip and shudders all over and pulls his hands a little higher up his back to keep them out of the way.

“You can put those down,” Yuuri offers. “By your head. It will be more comfortable.”

Victor does as he says, carefully unwinding his fingers and flexing them, then dropping them next to his head. He curls his hands into the blankets for something to hold onto.

Yuuri watches intently, then nods. “Good,” he says again. Victor feels a little shiver of pleasure in his stomach. “What do you say?”

He waits for Victor to say no. Victor says, “Thank you.” Permission to continue.

Yuuri smiles faintly, for the first time in a while. “Good boy.”

He goes back to stroking the pale skin of Victor’s ass. Victor works very hard to stay still, but Yuuri’s touches are so feather light and gentle and exploratory that they’re hard to tolerate. He wants Yuuri to dip down, to reach up, to do _something_ , but this is Yuuri’s show, and Victor is just along for the ride.

“How many?” Yuuri says, which startles Victor out of his drifting.

“What?”

“I said how many.”

“Oh. Oh.” Victor swallows. “Um.”

“If you don’t give me a number, I’ll just go until you say stop,” Yuuri says. It sounds like it could be a threat, if Yuuri were the threatening type. No, this is just a promise. If Victor can’t pick a limit, Yuuri will help him find one.

“Yeah. Do that.”

“Okay. But you have to remember to tell me.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good boy,” Yuuri says again. Victor’s body trembles briefly with pleasure, and then he lets his body sink down. His torso is pressed all against the second pillow and he’s grateful that Yuuri put it there. “I’m not going to count, then. You can, if you like.”

If Yuuri’s not going to count, then Victor isn’t either, at least not out loud. He nods and braces himself, and he sees Yuuri brace himself as well, his shoulders setting and his eyes turning to steel. It’s not always easy for Yuuri, who loves to please and loves to take and cherish, to hurt Victor in the precise way that Victor asks. He’s hurt Victor by accident before, but on purpose takes significantly more practice. Victor was patient and Yuuri was fumbling, until he wasn’t anymore and he made Victor sob into the pillows and come all over the bedsheets, months and months ago.

Now, he strokes Victor’s ass once more, twice more, and then delivers a sharp smack to his right ass cheek. Victor yelps softly, then bites the inside of his cheek. It doesn’t hurt too much, but it does hurt a little. Yuuri generally gives him a good, tentative warm up, more for his sake than Victor’s. Maybe Yuuri doesn’t need to be warmed up this time.

Yuuri spanks him again, his hand slightly cupped, on the other side. It hurts less but makes a louder noise, which lets Victor pretend to disguise his soft groan. Yuuri isn’t fooled, and Victor wouldn’t be either, but Victor’s not gagged so there’s no limit on the noises he’s permitted to make.

Smacks three and four hurt about the same, and five and six are harder, and by nine, Victor is hard too. He arches his back down and his ass up a little more, and it lets him rub the head of his cock against the pillow under him. He rocks forward and the tip brushes against the rough pillowcase that Yuuri must have brought specifically for this. Victor pauses, then shakes his head a little and smirks. Yuuri is clever in torturous ways.

“Is something funny?” Yuuri asks, like an irritable schoolteacher but much more fond.

“No, nothing is funny.”

“Do you need it harder?”

Victor is tempted to say no, but instead, he says, “Yes.” It’s not that he never wants it harder, because he often does, but Yuuri rarely wants to give it to him harder. Victor doesn’t want to push Yuuri, but if Yuuri didn’t want to push, he wouldn’t have asked.

Yuuri nods resolutely, delivers ten with the same force as nine, blows on his hand. His palm is slightly pink, and so is Victor’s ass. He touches the edge of the flushed skin, which makes sparks hurry all up and down Victor’s skin. Victor groans into the floor and his hips wiggle, getting a little more friction against the head of his cock. He feels wet already.

Yuuri starts spanking him again, much harder than before. There’s a big jump in intensity, and Victor cries out roughly into the blanket, makes trembling fists and grits his teeth. He rocks back into the blows and Yuuri’s other hand grips the back of his neck hard, keeping him shoved into the ground. Each smack is _loud_ and it echoes in Victor’s ears and throat and chest, where his responding cries are grown. Every time Yuuri’s hand comes down, another noise is ripped from Victor’s mouth, a series of unintended twitches and jerks and thrusts against the pillow following in their wake. It’s harder to count now, but easy to tell when it’s been ten, because Yuuri pauses and rests his hand on the small of Victor’s back. “Tell me.”

“More,” Victor says immediately. He’s slightly breathless and the word comes out like a rush.

Yuuri hums. He reaches in between Victor’s legs and curls his fingers around Victor’s knee and tugs it outwards. Victor grunts as he slips a little, his body pressing heavier into the pillow. It crushes his cock between the pillowcase and his belly, sandwiched between two very different sensations.

“As you will,” Yuuri offers - freedom, for Victor to come whenever he wants. Yuuri does not always extend that freedom, even when they’re in bed and equal and not on the floor in a carefully constructed nest. He likes to tease, Victor has discovered, which is probably mostly Victor’s fault but he only regrets it for about five minutes of the whole thing, so it’s worth it. But he’s not teasing now, and he’s given Victor everything he needs - no thoughts, no instructions, just sensation and a pillow to grind against.

He doesn’t even ask for a response, because the next blow on Victor’s ass _hurts_ , hurts so deliciously good. Victor cries behind lips pressed in a firm line, and then through an open mouth when Yuuri his that same spot again. Red hot pleasure rolls through him in angry waves. The tide is high inside Victor. Yuuri spanks him, and he bucks into the pillow, sliding the full length of his cock against it now. It’s scratchy and rough and it chafes and it’s perfect.

Yuuri spanks him hard, hard enough that Victor knows his hand must hurt, as much as Victor knows anything at all right now, which means not much. By the time he gets to the next ten, Victor is moaning nearly constantly, rocking back and forth like his life depends on it, frantic for whatever he can get. Yuuri sits back and watches for a moment, observant, almost thoughtful. Victor cracks an eye open and looks at him blearily, even though he can’t stop moving.

“Desperate,” Yuuri notes. It’s not a judgement - Victor has been called desperate before, tauntingly, and it left a sour taste in his mouth, but Yuuri is right. Victor is desperate and Yuuri doesn’t carry any judgement. Yuuri can be desperate too sometimes.

The blows come back, sharp against skin that already aches. Yuuri doesn’t give him anymore of a break, and Victor buries his soft screams and strangled cries in the blanket. He drops his hips lower, his knees sliding slickly across the comforter trying to flatten himself against the pillow. His knees are on the ground now, which will hurt later, but Victor doesn’t and can’t notice. Yuuri’s hand comes down again and again, the sore spots all blending together into one throbbing buzz of pleasure. It shatters through him like cracks in glass, over and over, spreading him wider and wider and opening him up, helpless, to Yuuri’s onslaught. Yuuri seems to always know the best ways to reach into Victor’s nerve endings and twist them, light them up until Victor is screaming, begging for Yuuri to touch him, clawing frantically at Yuuri’s shoulders. He claws at the comforter now, making the same slick sounds of nails against fabric, like water on rocks. He fucks himself downwards, grinding desperately against the pillow under him, and Yuuri figures out his pattern and inserts himself into it. He lets Victor shove himself into the pillow, and when Victor rises again, Yuuri drives him back down with another hard smack.

Victor wonders if he missed ten, or if Yuuri just didn’t stop. The hits are coming fast now, even and predictable, and they lull Victor into the quietest parts of his brain. The part that’s just feeling - no thinking allowed in here, Yuuri will take care of everything that needs to be taken care of, and Victor can just drift. He feels, and that’s all he has to do. The spanks hurt, but not so sharply anymore; now they feel hot, the most delicious mix of pain and heat and sparkling pleasure. Yuuri smacks at the tops of his thighs too, which makes Victor keen softly in between panting breaths and shove his ass backwards in a plea for more. He’s allowed to beg, but it’s hard to speak sometimes from this soft, comfortable space Yuuri carves out for him with the palm of his hand. The sound of impact dissolves into shivery pleasure that reverberates through Victor’s ears, down into his belly, filling his whole body with heat.

“Victor,” Yuuri says. Victor blinks slowly. Yuuri’s tone suggests it’s not the first time he’s said it. “Tell me.”

“More,” Victor croaks. “Please.”

Yuuri is quiet for a moment, then touches Victor’s ass with a gentle hand. Hot pain flares up from just that and Victor squirms; he’s aching all over, in his ass and thighs and knees and cock, and he wants _more_.

“Do better,” Yuuri says eventually. Not cruelly - Yuuri is not cruel. But he knows Victor can do better.

Victor pushes himself up onto his elbows. His arms are shaking gently, and his head hands low between his shoulders. “Yuuri, please,” he says, voice raspy. “Please, I need more. I need you, I need it, please–” He swallows hard and his elbows give out and he lands back on the pillow, which causes its own throb of pleasure. He feels that the pillow is wet underneath him, a patch soaked with precome and the rest damp with sweat. “Yuuri, please,” he whispers again, and he knows that’s enough.

Fingers thread through his hair again, but they don’t pull. Yuuri just strokes his head, gently. Comforting. “That’s good, Victor,” he praises, his voice as gentle as his hand. “You did well.”

Victor shivers again, a full body thing, and whimpers into the comforter. That’s all he ever really wants, to be good, and Yuuri gives him the opportunity. “How do you feel?”

Victor swallows, assesses, swallows again. “Sore.”

“I’m sure. Remember to tell me when.”

Victor nods. He closes his eyes. The hand disappears from his hair, and then comes down hard on his ass and Victor chokes out a scream and bucks into the pillow again.

Yuuri hits him for so long that the blows start to blend together. Victor can do little but slump against the pillows and feel, and that’s exactly what he needs. Yuuri spanks him again and again and again and Victor’s entire lower half is one big, exposed nerve, a touch to one part echoing through every other part of him. His thighs are shaking with the effort of staying up, the occasional drip of sweat rolling down to his knee. His cock is leaking constantly, his toes are curling, his mind is empty. It feels so, so good.

“Stop,” Yuuri says, and everything freezes. Victor’s eyes open automatically and dart around in confusion. He hadn’t been doing anything, had he? But no, it’s Yuuri, who’s knee walking around to Victor’s front. His face looks a little tense and Victor understands. It had been Yuuri who needed to stop. Victor feels a warm swell of pride at him for doing it.

Victor raises his head and tries to nuzzle at Yuuri’s thigh. Yuuri scoots closer and Victor rolls his forehead back and forth, then kisses Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri looks rather affected by that, and then he grabs Victor’s hair again and pulls upward until Victor scrambles up onto his elbows, and then onto his hands. He keeps his hips low so he can keep rubbing against the pillow, arching his chest out, showing off for Yuuri. Yuuri reaches out and tweaks a nipple and Victor convulses.

“My turn,” Yuuri says. Victor nods eagerly. Yuuri reaches down and unties the drawstring of his sweatpants, then tugs them down around his thighs. His cock springs free, mostly hard, and Victor’s mouth starts watering immediately. Yuuri was not unaffected either, and Victor feels twin rushes of pride and intense, base desire. He opens his mouth and Yuuri shoves two fingers past his lips, pressing down on Victor’s tongue, testing him. Victor swallows hard and breathes through his nose and relaxes as much as he can. He doesn’t gag when Yuuri pushes back further, and he lets out a quiet, shaky moan when Yuuri withdraws his fingers and wipes them on Victor’s cheek.

“Good boy,” Yuuri says again.

Victor whimpers. Yuuri’s words often feel like an extra touch, a caress along his cheek, a kiss pressed to his forehead. He craves them, needs them like oxygen in this soft, quiet space that Yuuri has built for him.

“Open,” Yuuri orders again. Victor opens his mouth and Yuuri pushes himself up onto his knees and eases the head of his cock past Victor’s lips. Victor moans softly and immediately starts working his tongue against the slit, circling around to the underside where Yuuri’s frenulum is. Yuuri hisses and a hand winds through Victor’s hair again. Yuuri squeezes tight, and it pulls, but he doesn’t guide Victor anywhere just yet. Victor leans forward, letting his lips stretch, taking more and more of Yuuri, feeling the weight on his tongue swell as Yuuri makes it to fully hard. Yuuri is quiet, but when Victor looks up, his lips are slightly parted and his eyes are very dark. Victor would kiss him, if he wasn’t busy with other things.

He lowers his gaze, lowers his head, bobs his head and works hard at taking more and more of Yuuri in. Yuuri showered beforehand, as part of the setup ritual, but he smells like sweat and musk and Yuuri now, and Victor wants to bury his face in it. Yuuri shuffles forward a couple inches so Victor can reach better, and Victor forces his throat open and takes Yuuri in as deep as he can do he can brush his nose through Yuuri’s public hair. He swallows, and he wants to choke but he holds it back, and it’s worth it to hear the way Yuuri’s chest rumbles with his first soft moan of the night. The sound is as addictive as any taste of precome on Victor’s tongue, any strike on his skin that leaves him glowing red afterwards.

Yuuri’s cock nudges against the back of Victor’s throat and Victor pulls back, coughing, a thin string of saliva connecting Yuuri’s cock to his lower lip. Yuuri takes himself in hand and tugs Victor’s head up to look at him. Victor meets his eyes and Yuuri leans forward and slaps Victor lightly across the cheek with his cock. It makes a wet, gentle slapping sound, and Victor very nearly comes right then.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Yuuri says, but it’s an open ended sentence. An invisible _do you need to stop?_

Victor shakes his head. He does not need to stop.

Yuuri nods at the answer, but then he slaps Victor again, the head of his cock rubbing against Victor’s cheek, smearing precome and spit together. Victor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and then another. Then he opens his mouth and Yuuri shoves in aggressively and Victor moans into it.

“You’re a mess,” Yuuri tells Victor, the statement slightly undercut by the way that he’s panting. Victor moans again - he is a mess. His face is wet, his eyes stinging with the effort of holding back his gag reflex, his cock a sloppy mess turning the pillows into a sloppier mess. He’s flushed and red and shaky and sweaty and blissfully, luxuriously debased.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuri tells Victor, one hand stroking Victor’s clean cheek, which isn’t so clean when a tear leaks down it from trying not to choke. Yuuri thinks that’s beautiful too, Victor knows. Yuuri thinks everything Victor is and does is beautiful, right down to fucking the air because he needs to be touched, he needs it so badly, but he’s not willing to disobey Yuuri to touch himself.

“I love you,” Yuuri tells Victor, an obvious truth that still makes Victor want to cry sometimes. Yuuri dominates the quiet space in Victor’s brain in a way no one has ever come close to, filling it with softness and pleasure and delicious aching pain. Yuuri would do anything for Victor, has won silver and gold and moved thousands of kilometers away from home and rebuilt Victor’s entire career for him. Yuuri is everything that Victor needed, the miracle of being everything Victor wanted, the privilege of Victor being those same things for Yuuri too.

Victor pulls back. He looks up. Yuuri looks surprised.

“I love you too,” Victor says, and then he dives back down, sucking hard, mashing his nose into Yuuri’s lower belly and drowning himself.

Yuuri’s surprised grunt turns into a loud moan, and he pulls back and slaps Victor with his cock again, as a reward this time. Victor pants hungrily and Yuuri does it again and Victor fucks down into the wet pillows and Yuuri pulls Victor’s hair and calls him a good boy and Victor grits his teeth and comes all over himself. He rubs hard against the pillow, his own come slicking the way; the fabric is almost painful from the friction but it’s just another edge of pain that Victor chases after hungrily. His body shakes violently, and then even harder when Yuuri slaps him one last time, his cock burning against Victor’s cheek, and then he ends Victor’s panting by shoving his cock back down his throat.

Victor gags, all his senses on high alert now, already overstimulated, but Yuuri doesn’t stop. He braces himself, shuffles his knees apart for leverage, and fucks Victor’s mouth raw. Victor is making a high noise at the back of his throat, which is sporadically cut off when his air is, swallowing when he can and relaxing when he can’t. He lets Yuuri use him, lets him dig nails into Victor’s jaw and press a finger alongside his cock in Victor’s mouth to see Victor’s red lips stretch, lets him drag Victor down by the hair and choke him. He lets Yuuri gasp out his name, raining down praises - he’s a good boy, he’s perfect, he’s so good, he feels _so good_ \- and grabs at them greedily, holding them inside himself. He hoards Yuuri’s moans and gasps to remember later. Yuuri will give him more, but Victor is a greedy man and he can never get enough.

He lets Yuuri come in his mouth. Yuuri pulls back far enough that Victor feels the head of Yuuri’s cock twitching, and Yuuri makes Victor taste it. It tastes like come, and Yuuri, and Yuuri babbles Victor’s name over and over as he empties himself just past Victor’s lips. Victor holds it all until Yuuri is finished, and then he swallows everything and the last little bit of suction draws a final soft cry out of Yuuri, one that is so achingly beautiful that Victor almost, almost does it again.

Yuuri pulls away and wipes his cock off with his own hand, then sits down heavily. He reaches for Victor and tugs and his shoulder and Victor gladly crawls forward a couple of steps and then collapses into Yuuri’s lap. He watches through slitted eyes as Yuuri reaches over and throws the come splattered pillows toward the door, and then laughs when the one he was kneeling on lands come-side down.

Yuuri casts him a wounded look. “If I tell you to clean that up, will you?”

“Likely not,” Victor says cheerfully. He snuggles into Yuuri’s lap, his head pillowed on Yuuri’s thigh.

“That’s alright.” Fingers card through Victor’s hair and Victor hums happily, closing his eyes again. “Are you alright?”

“I’m very good.” The quiet is starting to recede, but there’s warm safety wrapped around him instead, which is just as good. “What about you?”

“My hand hurts,” Yuuri says wryly.

Victor reaches up and grabs it clumsily, then brings it down and kisses Yuuri’s palm. “Better?”

“Yes, much better,” Yuuri says, amused. He pushes Victor off of his lap, then lies down behind him and pulls Victor to his chest. He wraps the comforter around them, and then nestles his face into Victor’s neck and kisses the point of his jaw. Victor rumbles happily. “You did well, Victor. I’m proud of you.”

Victor shivers again. Yuuri’s sweatpants brush against his sore ass, which lights his nerves up with pain and pride and affection. “You too,” he murmurs, and feels Yuuri’s smile against his lips and gifts the dark with one of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> again, i wanted to thank all of you for reading this and all the rest of the challenge. it was hard and fun work, but i'm really proud of myself for finishing it up.  
> i have some more things planned after this, so i'm definitely gonna continue writing for this fandom! i might open a prompt series too, if people would be interested in that. i've had some wips on the back burner for a while and i want to get those done first, but if you've got an idea for a fic you'd really like to see written, hit me up and let's talk. :)


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